


the pleasure part, the afterthought

by orphan_account



Category: Misfits, Skins (UK)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon has been following Effy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pleasure part, the afterthought

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "The Night Starts Here" by Stars. Originally written for Porn Battle XI, filling the prompts of traces and following.

Simon has been following this girl for the last three weeks. He’s not sure why. Alisha would laugh if she were here, because she always thought it was funny that he was such a stalker. But Alisha isn’t here. She is three months gone, buried in the cold ground, and Simon is alone.

The girl doesn’t remind him of Alisha, not really, although there are traces, slight similarities. It’s in the way she moves across a room as if she owns it, the uneasy play of inherent sexuality against self-conscious strutting. Joy always shined from Alisha, though, and this girl has none. She is empty, a black hole of need and lust and longing. Maybe she’s not like Alisha. Maybe she’s like Simon.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether she reminds Simon of himself or of Alisha. All that matters is her black-lined eyes, her hand against his chest as she pushes him against the back wall of a crowded club. Boys and girls couple beside them in glitter and abandon and the ghost of Alisha dances past.

“Are you following me?” she asks. Her name is Effy, Simon has heard her mates call her that, but it doesn’t seem to fit, a soft name for a hard edged girl.

“Yes.” It’s a stupid question. She knows he’s been following her. She’s watched him back, throwing glances over her shoulder, running her hands over her body teasingly.

“Good.” And her mouth is on his. She tastes like alcohol and cigarettes, blood and lost dreams. Simon closes his eyes and moves his hands over her back, pulling her closer. He hasn’t touched anyone since Alisha died, not a hug, not a pat, and definitely nothing like this. She hitches her skirt up and moves her legs apart as she unbuckles Simon’s trousers.

He starts to say something, thinks better of it. There is no room for talking. He lifts her up, turns her around, presses her against the wall as her legs close around his waist. Neither of them makes a sound as he enters her. She’s wet and slick and it’s beautiful and bitter and harsh.

Simon fucks her like he wants to break her. But she’s stronger than she looks. She bites his neck until it bleeds and after it’s over, she walks away, her hips swaying a goodbye her lips never said.

Simon zips up and leaves. He walks through quiet streets to the flat. He pours himself a glass of water and sits down, alone, to work on his time machine.


End file.
